Thankful For You
by Nickie S.C
Summary: Set on Thanksgiving 2004. A glimpse into Bobby Goren's tumultuous world, his inner demons and their makings, and the friendship that keeps him from falling over the edge.
1. Chapter 1

Bobby stood in his kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. It was later than his usual wake-up time, but he'd gotten about the same amount of sleep: not too much at all. Somehow he'd always been able to function on less sleep than most people. He was fully awake while his eyes looked half-asleep, as usual. It was slightly chilly in the apartment, the November air pressing through any crevice it could find; he turned the thermostat up a couple degrees before heading to the couch. Sounds of some unknown marching band played through the television, people of all ages lining the streets to be part of the celebration. He'd long since lost any interest in the parade, but it was Thanksgiving, after all. And some things were still tradition. Some things were all he had left of tradition…some things were all he had in the way of tradition in the first place.

Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his tie nearly dipped into his cup. He rolled his eyes to himself as he set the steaming mug on his coffee table. It was just habit to wake up and get dressed on weekdays, and today was no exception. All dressed up and nowhere to go. But since he'd forgotten to slip on his tie clip, he might as well lose the tie altogether. He did just that, folding the black and subtle red-striped silk neatly and setting it on the far side of the table. He fixed the collar on his sky blue dress shirt, smoothing over the buttons though they hadn't been ruffled.

He looked to the TV to see Garfield floating down the street and smirked slightly. That's all the happiness he could muster. He didn't want to start the day with a sad tone, but he simply couldn't help himself. His holidays never meant much of anything. Even before his mother had gotten sick…

_I'm not going there_, he mentally told himself. He wouldn't let the day start out with unnecessary sadness and walks down Memory Lane . _Not now._ But if it hadn't been 10 o'clock in the morning he would've poured himself a stiff drink at the thought of seeing his mother later. He loved her dearly, but that didn't change the wear and tear on his emotional and mental well-being at the hands of her unpredictable and periodically-callous behavior. Her medication had been changed recently due to the former making her extremely restless, and the transition wasn't going as well as the doctors had hoped. The new one alternated between making her unusually drowsy and launching her into bouts of dementia, be it forgetfulness or hallucinations. Several weeks ago she couldn't remember his name, then a moment later thought he had just come home from Germany . Just last week she accused him of stealing her thoughts and demanded he get out. So…it was truly a coin-toss as to what he could expect. But at least with a coin-toss it was 50/50, black-or-white; with his mother, things weren't nearly as cut and dry.

He shook away the later worries just in time for the knock at his door. He had a pretty good idea who'd be on the opposite side of the peephole. Taking a sip of his coffee, he walked to the door and smiled when his thought had been right.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Eames greeted, as he opened the door. "It's freezing out there." She stepped into his apartment and shivered. "Not that much better in here."

Bobby chuckled and nodded an apology. "I turned the heat up a few minutes ago. I guess it would be dumb to ask if I could take your coat." He couldn't help but notice the difference from her usual outfit and the part of her legs revealed from a little above the knee to a few inches below; tan skirt and dark brown high boots covering the rest.

She eyed him up and down. "What, do we have to go in today, or do you miss work so much that you had to dress the part?"

He laughed under his breath lightly, grinning. "Old habits die hard."

"I'd say. Time just stands still here. It still looks like you just moved in. Maybe you _should _get one of those nudie paintings you love so much just to add some life to this place. You could sit here and 'think' about that instead of checking out my legs." As he laughed out of shock and tried to shake the surprise off his face, she smirked as she sat down on his couch and widened her eyes at the sight of the parade. Just another glimpse into her partner's hidden childlike side. Garfield was nearly out of sight as she watched, shaking her in an awe-struck way. A coffee cup in her field of vision was enough to break her from the reverie of the days of yesteryear.

"Thanks," she said, taking the mug into her hands. "I'm already pretty wired, though."

"You're going to be with, how many kids today? You'll need to be wired." He smiled widely at the thought of Eames with her nieces and nephews, surrounded by her big loving Irish family. In fact, this time last year she had just given birth to her nephew. In fact, he'd celebrated his first birthday just 4 days ago. He knew on some level it still bothered her, though that remained hidden. Every now and then Bobby was in awe of that whole experience and how well she handled it –on the outside, at least. He knew she must've had some difficulty with it all, but she never let on. He already knew she was an amazing person, but to watch her go through all of that for her sister…even he couldn't think of a word worthy of just how remarkable she was.

"Don't you think enough during the week?" her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Dare I ask what's on your mind?"

He smiled and shook his head, looking down at her. "Nothing."

"Is that a good 'nothing' or a bad 'nothing'?"

Sitting down beside her, he wanted to tell her what he was thinking about, but he didn't on two counts. One, he didn't know if the topic would bring up any sadness for her; and two, he didn't want to discuss his innermost workings…outside detective work, of course. He was so good at what he did, analyzing everything to the smallest detail, but his feelings were another story altogether. If he'd learned anything from growing up the way he did, it was that showing emotion often lead to pain. And even though this was Eames…he didn't want to get overly deep on Thanksgiving morning.

"I was just thinking of you being Aunt Alex today."

She smiled back at him and nodded. "Too bad you have plans today. You could've been Uncle Bobby." His face contorted in slight confusion. "Oh knock it off. You know what I mean." He smirked and took a sip of his coffee. "So when are you going to Lewis's?"

"Around 4," he replied as he set his cup back on the table.

"Single men having Thanksgiving dinner together. What are you having? Hot dogs and beer?"

He arched his eyebrows and laughed. "Are you…saying we can't cook?"

"Not at all. I just know bachelors aren't known for slaving over a hot stove. You'd sooner go to Denny's."

"Well, it may not be the Eames' family feast, but I'm sure we'll make out just fine."

"I bet—" she was cut off by her cell phone ringing. "Who could this be already?" to Bobby; "Hello?" into the phone. After a second, "Hi, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too. You know it's only 10:30 , right? … Ok…I'll be there soon." She groaned and gave him a sad look as she closed her phone. "I'm sorry to cut out on you so soon, but my mother needs some help. And since I'm the only one who doesn't have kids to tend to, I'm being summoned."

His shook his head. "No problem. Just go and have a nice Thanksgiving," he said warmly.

She patted his left knee and stood up, drinking the last of her coffee in one gulp, as he watched and giggled under his breath. "You know I'm a whore for sugar."

He stood up out of respect as she headed for the door, following her. Right before she opened it she turned around; "Have a great Thanksgiving, Bobby." She said the words almost as an order. A friendly order, but an order still. After he told her to do the same and to pass on the same words to her family, she started to walk out, then turned around once again as he held onto the top of the door. "And you tell your Mom the same," she smiled.

He smiled even though the words stung a little. "I will." He watched her leave and then closed the door, walking back to the couch. He knew she meant well. He knew she had no idea what it'd been like for him lately. How could she? He never told her anything. More and more he knew it could only be healthy for him to discuss such things with her…but he couldn't. He hoped one day that could change; after all, decades of distrust overruled several years of close friendship…at least in his mind. With everyone he went through in his partnerships added to his past, he still had that fear she'd leave if he gave her the reason. He knew somehow he'd have to let her in, because they were so close, because she was the only one he truly trusted with his life. It didn't make much sense that he trusted her to save his life, but not to know what went on in it. But little by little…it would happen.


	2. Chapter 2

As she reached the end of the hall, she turned around to look at his door, far out of the reach of his peephole. She had an inkling that his day wasn't going to go according to plan, but she couldn't put her finger on why. She vehemently wished that he'd join her for the holiday, get to see what a real family is like. She'd been trying for years to do just that, but he was stubborn. She understood, in a way, why he'd politely declined all her offers: seeing a real family might only make him further regret what he'd been robbed. Her intention was surely not to upset him, though she realized her intention might not be tantamount to the outcome.

Her heart did ache for his misfortune, though she never let on. He couldn't stand pity, a fact of which she was well-aware. Being protective of oneself was something she understood, but feeling the need to be so secretive was not. Well, sure, she rarely mentioned her late husband, but Bobby wasn't ignorant to his existence. All she really knew about his home life could fit into the palm of her hand: his mother began to emotionally and mentally leave him at the age of 7; his father left his legacy with his fists and cruel words before walking out completely; and his brother was just as much a stranger as their parents. She couldn't even fathom how it was to grow up in the turmoil, or how he managed to turn out so well, so smart, and so kind.

The rumors that circulated dug deeply, as she knew they did for her partner, though he wouldn't show it. Some were based upon truth but greatly exaggerated, others were false through-and-through. He didn't make it easy for people to see the real Bobby…but maybe, she thought like the switching-on of a light bulb, that's just how he wanted it. If people were leery of him, thinking him schizophrenic and violent, they'd leave him alone. And if he was left alone…he wouldn't have to let anyone in. But she was left confused all the same because she knew he was lonely…and why would anyone want that? Maybe it's just what he's always known, and sometimes no matter how sad, familiarity was easier than change. She knew his fears of abandonment were deep-seated. He'd gone through enough people in his life to merit that fear. She, herself, didn't think she could take him at first, but she grew to understand, appreciate, and love him. And unless something massive and unforeseen presented itself, she intended to be his partner for the rest of her time on the force…and she'd never let him find out that she once thought of walking away.

Although at the moment she had to do just that, stepping down the stairs and out into the November chill. She caught a glimpse of him walking past the window just before she drove away…but she'd be back later.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you, everyone, for the great reviews so far! They meant a lot. :-)**_

* * *

It was nearing noon , the parade ending with the appearance of Santa, but he'd barely paid it any attention since Eames left. He'd changed into regular clothes – black acrylic turtle-neck, tan jacket, and black jeans – not long ago, smirking still at Eames' earlier remark.

Grabbing his keys, he hesitantly left his apartment, on edge about what the next few hours would bring. A sigh escaped him as he got into his truck and started the engine. The ride to Carmel Ridge was bittersweet. It gave him time to imagine what the visit would be like, and usually he was off-base. Even with his keen instincts, schizophrenia managed to elude him. Sometimes his mind wandered to a fantasy world where his mother had a regular home and a stable mind, and he could go to see her and not risk leaving with his heart breaking. It was a mystery to him at times how it could still hurt. After decades of the same, why did it still get to him? He surmised the answer was simple: he had a big heart. Sometimes too big. But an upbringing like his was liable to launch a person into one of two extremes: mirrored and destructive, or entirely opposite and very caring to defy the world he'd grown up knowing. Unfortunately his brother was the former of the duo, and though somewhere he did love him, he also found it difficult to be truly sympathetic when his brother didn't think it necessary to help himself. After all, they'd grown up in the same house, with the same questionable role models, with the same chances (or lack there of), so why should he feel guilty for his turnout? Frank's whereabouts were a conundrum, and Bobby figured his own presence was much the same to his older sibling. The last genuine time he'd heard from Frank was when he came home from overseas, and after that a call or two emerged only to ask for money. He wasn't even sure if Frank knew he'd become a cop, much less a detective. He did fear every once in awhile that an angry loan shark would take his brother's life in lieu of collection, but there wasn't a great deal he could do. An addict could only be helped if he wanted to be helped, and Frank did not. Frank wanted the quick fix, the eradication of his debts, with a promise his days on the edge were over…until another "sure thing" presented itself. And Bobby…well, he just wasn't willing to let himself be drawn into that game. He couldn't be sure if his brother was on drugs or not, but he had a strong sense gambling wasn't his only addiction. Throughout the years he wondered what it'd be like to have a brother to connect to, since he knew looking up to was out of the question, but he was certain the Goren family line was down to one.

Upon walking into the building, the nurse smiled. She knew him well, and she was Bobby's favorite of the bunch. She was the kind of woman he'd ask out on a date – if she weren't wearing a wedding ring.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Bobby," she said, getting up out of her seat.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Marcy," he replied with a lilt giving her one of his boyish smiles. "Are you stuck here all day?"

"No, I'm going home at 4. Then it's off to my in-law's. Truth be known," she leaned in, "between the two, I'd rather stay here."

He chuckled. He didn't know the feeling, but he'd heard enough about evil mothers-in-law to comprehend. His truth be known, he'd give anything to have one sane shred of stable family to see today.

"I was going to say, if you had to stay, I'd get us something to eat and have our own little holiday dinner."

"You're too sweet. I think you conveniently forgot that I'm married." She flashed him a coy grin.

A blush spread over his cheeks momentarily before giving her a look that conveyed _…So…?_ "She's doing well today. I'm happy to tell you that, believe me. She told me that you'd be coming. As if I didn't already know. You're a great guy." Another nurse signaled for assistance and she nodded, walking around from behind the desk. "How you're still single I'll never know," she said as she walked past him, touching his arm lightly with a smile.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked down the hall to his mother's room. He could hear her humming; a sound so seldom-heard and so joyous to his ears. He wanted so much for her to be Ok, and today…he was getting that wish. Opening the door, her gleaming face was the first thing he laid eyes on.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, coming to his side and hugging him tightly. He hugged back with the same intensity, nearly having to suppress tears. She was wearing her best clothes, all dressed up for him.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mom," he said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. He looked around the room, the small personal effects seeming to jump out at him. Especially the picture of her with him and his brother. Mother's Day 1967. He wouldn't be 6 for another 3 months, and he wouldn't know his Mommy's darkest secret for another year and a half. Their father had taken the picture, and it took some not-so-thinly-veiled threats to get Frank to stop tickling him and straighten up for the camera. But the picture revealed none of the behind-the-scenes antics; not the slightly off-beat way their mother had been acting, not the beers his father had consumed, not the constant taunting of his older brother, and not the uneasiness in himself. None of that. As far as anyone could tell by this picture, they were a happy family. Two little boys and their loving mother, a day full of chocolates in a heart-shaped box and gladness. He'd never looked at that picture the way he did this Thursday afternoon. And that made it all the more awkward when his mind returned to reality, to see the walls of his mother's shared room in a mental health facility.

"I'm so glad you came," she said with a bright-eyed smile. "I told everyone you would."

"I always do," he said sweetly with a boyhood smile to match. Sometimes he wondered if she even remembered they'd seen each other just a week before. Or even that they talked everyday – well, he _called_ everyday, but they didn't speak everyday. On her worst days he'd just talked to one of the nurses. "How are you feeling?"

"It's a good day, Bobby," she replied with a continued grin on her face. "I haven't felt this good in quite awhile. I think they might've finally done it this time with the medication. It would be a blessing after so long."

They continued to talk, having an actual normal conversation for a change, as she took his arm and lead him into the common room area. A few patients were scattered watching the original _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_ on the TV. It was mostly quiet aside from the sounds of the movie, a nice switch from the usual hustle and bustle. Bobby guessed most people had visitors at the same time, some in better mental health possibly being checked out for the day. He wished he could've done that so many times, but his mother was rarely that stable for a considerable amount of time. The times she was he was just too busy with work. But today…she was fine. And he had to keep reminding himself that this was his mother. It didn't seem to be the same woman he had to speak carefully to, maneuvering around her episodes and outbursts. He wondered if this _would_ be the success story for her. But he refused to let himself think that far in advance. He'd settle for the here and now and be grateful.


	4. Chapter 4

"Bobby, have you heard from Frank?" his mother asked out of the blue, with a sad yet hopeful look in her eyes.

He was apprehensive to tell her the answer; he liked to sugarcoat and give her some hope about his brother any little bit he could. Not exactly a lie, but a version of the truth. "Not lately. He's probably been busy. I'm sure he's thinking about you and wishes he could be here."

"That's my boy… Next time you talk to him, you tell him to visit me, won't you?"

He had to suppress his sigh, his anger at his brother, and his annoyance that somehow through all the neglect and selfishness…his mother still looked at Frank as the "good one". He liked to believe it was the illness that did it, that made her somehow believe his brother had it so much worse, and that she couldn't see the reality of it all. He couldn't understand how he just wasn't good enough for her…but it wasn't worth the thought. His mother would never change. Frank was the brilliant one in her eyes. "I will, Mom. I will."

Now the sounds of Thanksgiving Day football came from the TV, the Colts versus the Lions; some of the elderly male patients were watching. Bobby glanced from time to time, from another part of the common room at a table. They were playing cards to pass the time, having basically run out of things to talk about. At first they were playing Go Fish, now it was onto 500 Rummy. They weren't officially keeping score, and he was trying to let her win whenever possible. Her question had caught him in middle-shuffle, still holding half of the deck in each hand. He resumed and dealt them each 7, seeing that he had 3 Aces, deciding he'd discard one right away in hopes she'd pick it up. Funny to think that winning a few card games would make her day, but on the rare day of lucidity and happiness, he wanted to see her smile as often as possible.

After a number of discards, with basically a whole slew of random digits and unmatched suits in his possession, his mother won another hand. Even without pen and paper, he had the calculation in his head. With this score of 5 to her 100, she was leading with 375, nearly double his measly total. Just as he scooped the cards up and smiled at her cheery mood, a familiar voice came from behind.

" Frances , you didn't tell me Bobby was coming today!" the little old lady said.

"Yes I did! You'd lose your head if it wasn't attached, Esther," Frances joked. Esther Cohen was her old roommate, very sweet lady. She was barely 4'10", making Bobby tower over her; he always tried to stay seated around her out of respect for that. She was a patient due to her advanced bipolar disorder, but for nearly the last year her real problem had been Alzheimer's. From time to time she'd mistake him for Frank.

"Bobby, you're so sweet to come here on Thanksgiving. Such a _mensch_. You could be home with that pretty little girlfriend of yours, but instead you came here to be with your mother. I wish I had a son like you."

He blushed and laughed nervously. "Esther, you know I don't have a girlfriend," he said playfully. About 2 years ago, he'd taken a Polaroid of himself and Eames on the job; later he brought it in to show his mother so she could put a face to the name. Esther had taken a look, and since her memory started to fade, she'd begun to associate Eames as a different kind of partner.

"Oh, _engaged_ now?! _Mazel tov!_ When's the wedding?" Bobby raised his eyebrows then cocked his head to the left with a small smile. "You and Alex are going to be so happy together!"

"Esther, Alex and I aren't—"

"Bobby, you shouldn't keep your _beshert_ waiting. It's not right." She shook her head and smiled, placing her hand on his. "You're lucky to have each other; don't let her slip through your fingers." To Frances : "I have to run; I want to catch a few winks before dinner."

The two ladies exchanged pleasantries before Bobby could get a word in edgewise. When he was finally able to speak, all he decided to say was "_Shalom_".

"You don't have to be a show-off, you know," Frances interjected. "Arrogance isn't a pretty thing, Bobby."

"I'm just trying to be polite—"

"Don't talk back to your mother. Especially on a holiday. And pay no mind to Esther. Just deal the cards, I'm winning. How much more til I hit 500?" His little-boy-lost expression turned to a surprised smirk. "I know you're keeping score in your head."

"125, Mom. You've got a streak of luck today," he said in an aloof yet gentle tone. He couldn't place the feeling exactly, but he felt unnerved. It was far from the first time Esther had made the mistake, but today for some reason it stung a little.

"Luck ain't got anything to do with it," she smirked, "now deal."


	5. Chapter 5

Back in the solitude of her room, Bobby sat on the bed facing his mother. She'd won the game, and they were biding their time until dinner. He kept looking at the clock, checking to see how close it was getting to 4. She'd been silent for a little while, and it took years to understand that when she was in this sort of trance, it was best to wait until she spoke first. Looking at her, looking to Mother's Day picture, looking to the closed door, looking to the clock, and back to looking at his hands in his lap – this went on for what seemed like forever. Then, almost startling him, her voice broke the silence.

"Bobby?" she asked as if from miles away.

"I'm right here," he said, putting his hand over hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Where's Frank?" The question was innocent enough, making his heart drop a floor or two. She was out of it again. But, still, he'd take tired and forgetful over the alternative.

"I don't know…but I'm sure he's thinking about you."

"That's my boy. That demanding job of his, I can't blame him for being busy," she said so effortlessly, with such compassion for her absentee son. "Being a scientist isn't easy work, Bobby."

He stopped himself from rolling his eyes or groaning. Always some form or another of the Poor Frank Story. "I know it isn't." Unable to completely shrug off what she said, he added: "Being a cop isn't…it isn't simple, either, Mom."

"I know that," she replied defensively. "Do you think I don't know that? I know what you do everyday." Any other way, these words would be taken as prideful, but in this tone, they only came from annoyance. "Don't put words in my mouth, Bobby. …But _you_ live close, and you still only come to see me once a week. Sometimes I think you use it as an excuse to stay away."

His blood began to boil and still he had to keep his cool disposition. _Excuse…_, he scoffed silently to himself.

"Do you want me to come more often?" he asked, trying to sound kind, trying to hide his exasperation. "If you want more company, all you have to do is ask. It's not always easy to get away from work," he explained with such a gentle voice. "It's very demanding—"

"I know, Bobby, your job is your life. I'm well-aware that you're in demand. But I need you, too. I need you, too. …You're all I've got." This made him feel guilty; guilty that he worked all the time, guilty that he didn't see her more often, guilty that he couldn't do more to help…

"All the money you make and I'm just left here by myself. This is the best you can do. It's not even as if you've got a family to support." Guilt trip and belittling all in one. And on today, a big family holiday, that hit a nerve.

"Well I do like to spend some money on myself, Mom. I do work very hard for it. I put my life on the line on a regular basis and I think I deserve to indulge myself a little." His tone wasn't outright rude, just slightly more on edge. More a justification than anything. Truth be known, he indulged a little more than "a little": nice clothes, good food, a cleaning lady, the occasional date, not to mention supporting his many hobbies and interests. But even so, it was rightly deserved.

"Fine, indulge away. Indulge away. All I'm saying is, it wouldn't kill you to help your mother out a little more."

"You know this is the best place for you," he leaned forward and took her hands in his. "They can help you more than anyone else, more than any other place. It's best …for your needs—"

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid," she lashed out, taking her hands away from his. "I know why I'm here. I know I'm a schizophrenic! Maybe if you'd let me live with you, it would make everything easier. You wouldn't have to pay for this place, pencil in the weekly visit."

"You know I can't do that—"

"Stop telling me what I know!"

He sighed, obviously getting very frustrated. His home was for him, rare as it was that he was there. Some weeks he barely even slept there…though he barely slept as it was, whether it was at home or at the station. He loved his mother dearly, but he wouldn't give up his personal space. Horrible as he felt when he thought it…he'd given up enough for her.

"I'm sorry. But you kn—" he caught himself, "but I'm hardly there. And I wouldn't be able to give you the care you need. This is the _best _place. If you need or want me to come more often, I can do that, but you have to stay here." He studied her face. "I'm only thinking of what's best for you, Mom. I want you taken care of." So he lied slightly; it wasn't _only_ about what was right for her…but that was a huge part of it.

She waved her hand in a swift movement as she lightly shook her head. "I know, I know." Now she looked him in the eyes and nodded. "That's fine..."

"I'm sorry…" he gave her a sad look and the room went silent once again. Silence was a two-fold situation with his mother. On one hand it was a blessing because he didn't have to endure the jabs or try to phrase his words ever so carefully. But on the other hand…it just made him wonder what was coming next. He went back to the routine of looking at her – her head back down facing the blankets – then looking to the clock.

After several minutes, she spoke again: "Got a hot date?"

He chuckled lightly. "No, why?"

"You keep looking at that clock like you're dying to get out of here." Now just a simple smirk spread across his face as he shook his head. "Oh, Bobby… When are you going to settle down? You're not getting any younger, y'know."

He was well-aware of that, and also well-aware of his commitment issues. The root of them was sitting just several feet away. "I'm fine," he said softly. "I'm fine, don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah…" she said in the tone of someone who knew they were lied to. "You can take care of yourself. That's not what I'm talking about. Don't you want someone to come home to?"

He laughed lightly, shifted his weight and position. "I told you, I'm hardly ever at home," trying to make light of the serious question.

"Oh, you're so funny," she quipped. "You don't want someone to love you? You never think about things like that in between solving your big cases? You just want to be alone the rest of your life?"

There was no way to get out of this corner, he knew that. He couldn't change the subject or joke his way out of it. And he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her the truth…because he didn't completely know what the truth was. His mind was usually so occupied with other things, usually this topic was only passing in frequency. It wasn't often he let his mind dwell on it. Of course, there were the times it really gnawed at him, the times it actually hurt…but he made sure those feelings were seldom felt.

"Ok, I can take a hint," her voice said slightly high-pitched. "But you're going to wake up one day and realize you missed your chance. You wait. See what happens." Just when he thought she was done with the lecture, she tacked on the clincher. "She's not going to wait forever."

He was taken aback, caught off-guard entirely. "_'She?'_" he asked.

"Oh come on…"

Taking a moment to think, he mustered up the only 'she' his mother could possibly be referring to. "Eames?" he asked and laughed. "We're just partners, Mom. That's it. End of story." She stared at him blankly. "Friends and partners. She's my friend, she means…she means a lot to me, but that's all we are. Nothing more. I've told you this."

"Ah jeez, Bobby, your face lights up when you talk about her. And speaking of which, after all these years it's about time you call '_Eames_,'" she said in a slightly mocking way, "by her real name."

He shrugged and lost a bit of the calmness in his voice. "Well, I don't know what to tell you, that's what I call her."

"And she calls you 'Goren'?"

"Sometimes. But usually she calls me Bobby. I call her Eames and she calls me Bobby. It's what we're comfortable with." But he was horribly uncomfortable saying it in this instance and it showed. Truth was, this wasn't the first time he had to explain the story to his mother. At one time she was well aware, but he was quite used to replaying things for her.

"Yeah, best to keep it that way… If you called her by her real name, you might have to actually get close to her."

He was visibly even more uncomfortable, getting up from the bed to stand beside it. "Look, can we stop talking about this?" A second later: "Can I get you anything to drink? Do you—"

"You carried a picture of her around, for crying out loud! You're 44-years-old! Esther was right! Stop acting like a teenager with a crush and just do something about it!"

Somehow the slyest and most vindictive criminals in the world could barely make him miss a beat, but this was enough to send him into a stutter. "I didn't…carry around a…a picture of her. It was a picture of, of the two of us that I took during an investigation. It was to throw off the managers that, that I was taking another picture of the scene. I brought it here to…to show you who she was, so that, so you could know what she looked like." He exhaled and rubbed his forehead. "…And I'm 43, Mom," he corrected with a sad sigh. "43…"

"I know how old my own son is! I said 43!" He nodded in false disagreement. His eyes were fixed on the floor now, the grey and cold marble that seemed to reflect his feelings. Truth was, he just wanted to go home. Like a little boy, he'd had enough and simply wanted to go home. But he couldn't. He had to stay and listen, he had to endure it…because he was all she had; she had him there.

"Should I go and see what's taking them so long? You have to be getting hungry by now, huh?" he asked with a grin.

"Whatever gets you out of the room, right? Whatever gets you away from me. Heaven forbid you spend some time with me on a holiday. I'm only your mother. I'm sorry to pull you away from the misery of being at your apartment all alone." At this, Bobby took a deep breath and exhaled heavily through his nose. He slightly shook and began to blink more rapidly. He knew it had to come…eventually, it had to rear its ugly head. It had been too good to be true.

"That's all right, you keep away from me. You keep your distance. One day I won't be here and you'll wish you'd spent more time with me. One day you'll regret it."

"I don't keep my distance," he pleaded with a strength from some deep place in himself. "I want to spend time with you; I want us to have nice visits. I _love_ you."

She scoffed lightly. "I love you, too… I'm trying to help you out, trying to push you to make that first step. I might want a grandbaby before I go, is that too much to ask for?" He put his face in his hands momentarily, having no clue how to even respond to that. "Your brother probably has a pretty little girlfriend he's with today. _He's_ making something of himself. At least his job isn't his only reason for getting out of bed in the morning."

It was amazing to him how steam wasn't coming out of his ears at that statement. On so many levels, it was so wrong. "You don't _know_ that, Mom," he said with a slightly agitated voice. "You don't what he's doing with himself. I may not have anything but my job, but at least my money doesn't go to a bookie or dealer every payday."

"I know your brother has his problems! I'm not blind! Maybe if you'd help him—"

"I'm not helping him, Mom!" Still below a yell, but he was losing his cool. "If he wants to piss it all away, that's his prerogative."

"Shame on you! That's your _brother_!" A bit softer: "That's your _brother_. What's wrong with lending a helping hand if you're able?"

"He doesn't _want_ help. He doesn't want help; he wants people to support his habit. And I'm not going to do it."

"If you could've just kept in touch with him… If you could've at least pretended you wanted to stay close to him… You could've stopped him from getting into this mess, Bobby. You could've helped. You just didn't want to. Because it's always been all about you. He was there for you, to look out for you, and you couldn't do him the decency—"

"I tried to be in his life, but eventually I stopped trying to stay in touch for a lot of reasons. He wasn't there as much as you think he was…" he trailed off and exhaled deeply. As much as he wanted to yell, he just couldn't. As much as he wanted to tell her the full truth, it wasn't in him. He didn't want to hurt her…no matter how much she hurt him. "He stopped keeping up with my life once I got back from overseas. I don't even think he knows I'm a cop. Now it's up to him. I…I can't do it anymore. I can't…" _take care of both of you_ was the end of the sentence he kept to himself. He just shook his head and waved his hand. "I can't."

After another heavy exhale and a hand run through his hair, he apologized for no real reason. He knew she couldn't help herself, the way her mind worked, but sometimes he couldn't help himself, either. He never raised his voice, but sometimes he had to subtly say his peace. He didn't expect too much in way of regret on her part, but he surely wasn't prepared for what she said next.

"You know what?" her voice asked in a low and angry tone. "You're just like your father. Just like him. Your needs, your views, your justifications. I see it." Her head nodded furiously. "I see it! So throw it all away! Throw away the only woman who will ever love you, so you can, what? Run around with the little floosies? Look where it got him! You're supposed to be better than this! But you were always the disappointment! You were always just – like – him!"

He didn't know whether to scream or cry. His breath was very quick and jagged, his heart beating rapidly. Just like his father? The man who abused them all? The man who was addicted to cheap women and endless alcohol? The man who walked out when things got too rough, when they needed him to step up the most? And as he stood before her, a former Captain in the United States Army, Purple Heart-recipient, well-respected and accomplished Detective First Grade of the NYPD…that amounted to disappointment? But his brother, the gambling and drug addict…he was the hero. The one who _was_ just like their father…he was the apple of Mom's eye. He cared for her, hardly ever lost his temper with her, made sure she had the best care possible…and she was still waiting for Good Old Frank to come and save her from unreliable and selfish Bobby. Sometimes…it was impossible to chalk it up to the disease. Sometimes it just dug too deeply… He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of her heated voice.

"I said get out! Get out!"

"Calm down, it's Ok," he cried out, surrendering all of his justly-felt feelings. "I'm sorry, I was wrong, I was out of line. I'm sorry. Please, just calm—"

"It's too late for that, I said get out! I don't need you to come in here and harass me this way! I deserve better than this! Just get out!" He opened his mouth to protest once again, being cut off before the words could leave his lips. "I don't want you in here; don't talk to me, leave! Go! Leave me alone!"

Picking up his coat, he turned to face her once more; her eyes were closed, her body shaking in anger. He began to say something, but thought better of it. Shaking his head in despair, he quietly left the room, making sure the door shut behind him. Marcy stood several yards in front of him, questioning what happened, extending her apologies. He nodded his head in appreciation but didn't speak. Instead he headed straight for the exit as she proceeded to his mother's room. The cold hit him with an impressive force as he pulled his coat on over the tan jacket. The walk to his truck was full of his mother's voice, the hateful words and effortless abuse. He thought this might be the most he ever wanted to get away from Carmel Ridge, and he wasted no time in doing just that once the key was in the ignition.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hope anyone who's been reading is intrigued so far. Let me know what you're thinking! :)**_

The clock on his dashboard read 3:47 as he drove down the highway. Usually he preferred to drive in silence, keeping his focus on the road as his mind worked and observed. But on this rare day, he flipped his radio to a classical station, playing a piece which fit his mood: painful and powerful. His breathing was audible and uneven, feeling more ill at ease than he had in quite some time. And right then, breaking through the chords playing through the speakers and the thoughts racing in his mind, his phone rang. He silently begged for it not to be Deakins calling him in–_any time but now, please not now_ – as he struggled to pull it from his pocket. Finally, with it in his possession, he answered with a somewhat distant "Goren."

"Hope I'm not interrupting," the familiar and comforting voice said.

He was able to muster a small smile. "No, Eames, you're not interrupting. How…are things over there?"

"Insane but great at the same time. Kids, kids everywhere! That's the Irish for you. Are you at Lewis's yet?"

"No, I'm on my way now. I was…watching the end of the game," he replied with the half-truth. Faking enthusiasm, "How about those Colts, huh? Good game."

"I know! Not that I've seen too much of it. One TV's football, another's _SpongeBob_.And somewhere in between the two, I became ring master, I mean, babysitter." He lightly laughed. "Have you been to see your mom yet?"

His chest tightened and his face followed suit. "No, I'm going after dinner," he lied, speaking quickly. "Listen, Eames, I gotta get going. I'm running late. But I'll talk to you later."

Noticeably taken aback, she said Ok and barely got out "Enjoy your dinner" before he replied "You, too. Bye" and hung up. He slid his phone back into his pocket, turned up the radio, and continued driving…

* * *

The black truck pulled up to the corner in one swift move. The cloudy skies had given way to light rain as Bobby sat staring at the windshield wipers moving the precipitation back and forth. Past that, he looked up at the windows of the 3rd story apartment before pulling his cell phone out of his coat and dialing a well-known number. Somewhat impatiently he waited for the seemingly-endless rings to stop. After 3, the voice of his longtime friend answered with a holiday greeting.

"Same to you, man," Bobby replied, trying to sound slightly chipper.

"Hey, Bobby. How are ya?" Lewis asked sincerely. He shook his head and sighed. He almost explained, but that was all the answer Lewis needed. "She's not good, huh?"

"No…not good at all. …One day I'll…stop expecting more."

"I'm sorry, Bobby…" he sighed sympathetically. Silence hung for several seconds before a more hopeful tone came through the receiver. "Did you want to come over here? You know you're always welcome. Plenty of food."

He smiled but shook his head, staring off into the street. "I appreciate it, but…no, I…think I should be alone right now."

"You're alone too much, man." Bobby shifted uncomfortably at that. "Sorry, it just came out. I get it, Bobby, you know I do…as much as I can. I just hoped maybe this year you would've changed your mind at the last minute. I always invite you and you always say no. I'm starting to think you don't love me anymore," Lewis joked.

He smiled and chuckled. "Ah come on, Lewis, I couldn't love you any less if I tried." It felt good to joke for a moment. Lewis, of course, couldn't fully understand what his life was like, but he'd been there long enough for Bobby not to get upset at the implication. They'd been friends for so long and Lewis even had a front row seat once to one of Momma Goren's outbursts. Definitely not one of Bobby's proudest moments…as if it were _his_ fault his mother acted that way. Lewis was there to support him the day he decided to check his mother into Carmel Ridge, a decision very difficult and heartbreaking. He'd run out of options and it was all up to him…so, in a lot of ways, Lewis did "get it".

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me," Lewis offered. "Would love to have ya."

"Thank you," Bobby replied wholeheartedly as he nodded. They exchanged goodbyes and he withdrew his keys from the ignition. Walking a little quicker than usual, he got to the front door of the building and continued up the stairs to his apartment.

* * *

The front door shut with more force than usual. The keys barely stayed on the ring as he roughly placed them overtop, but the time was still taken to hang his coat with precision before he marched to the kitchen. The fridge was less than half-full, but he wasn't much concerned with eating right now; his focus was on the freezer, where he broke 3 ice cubes out of the tray into a rocks glass. A moment later he was carrying the glass in one hand and a bottle of Glenlivet in the other to the living room. Racing thoughts were a familiar and even at times comforting thing to him, but right now none of them were good. Through the very recent memories of his mother came Eames. He felt guilty about rushing her off the phone, but he just couldn't bear it at the moment, her asking about his mother. But more than that, he felt guilty about lying…but if she knew the truth, that he planned to be alone, she would've insisted he join her for the family gathering. That was the last thing he needed, to be further reminded what he never had and would likely never have. And he simply didn't want the pity. Likewise, she didn't need someone like him that at her Thanksgiving celebration. It was the same reason he didn't want to be with Lewis. Somewhere he wanted to be with both of them, but he couldn't get the rest of himself to agree. The side that always won out had won out again, so here he sat downing scotch whiskey while the rest of the country said grace and gave thanks for all that they had.

He _was_ grateful for what he had, a job he enjoyed and excelled at, a wonderful partner-turned-friend, the money he made, the things he could afford with that money…but that was all. At the end of the day, no matter how great a day it had been professionally or personally, he still came home to this lonely apartment. He feared that's all he'd ever know. Time didn't permit much else, and neither did his demons. Commitment was his weakness and the only woman who'd really broken through was Eames; she was his longest relationship with a woman. He figured maybe that's more than he could ever ask for, given all of his hang-ups and issues…and he didn't take her for granted. The time without her had nearly shattered him, making his appreciation for her grow even more.

Suddenly he found himself standing at the window looking out across the street. His original intent was to see if the rain was letting up, but his eyes wandered to windows in the building straight ahead. Most he couldn't see through, but the two that permitted view made him feel very empty. In the first window sat a couple cuddled on the couch watching something on TV, what they were focused on wasn't visible. In the second window, a family of 5 – a mother, a father, a pre-teen son dressed in a football jersey, a daughter a little younger in casual but pretty clothes, and a little girl (no more than 5) in pigtails in a little pink dress – sat around the dining room table. Bobby glanced back and forth from the couple on the couch to the adorable little girl. He smiled at them both…but his heart hurt underneath that smile.

Just months before, Nicole Wallace had said that, like herself, he wasn't meant to have children. And even though he barely entertained the thought, somewhere it bothered him… His mother bringing it up didn't help. Her illness frightened him a great deal. The chances of passing it on were relatively low…but for all he knew, the disease could be lying dormant inside of him. And he simply didn't want to know. After all he'd seen, he didn't want to even think he could be like her. Fine line between genius and insanity as it was, he never thought he'd danced on that line, and he liked to keep it that way. He was afraid enough of letting someone love him, opening himself up to vulnerability and showing his weaknesses, but the idea of possibly having a child just like his mother…was too much. He'd spent his life, essentially, taking care of her…and he couldn't do it all over again with someone else he loved. Schizophrenia had taken enough away from him.

Back on the comfort of his sofa, he still saw the 3 children's faces in his mind. And began to relate them to himself. He saw the son as the boy he never got to be, as by that age he was dealing with both his mother's affliction and his father's abandonment. He saw the older daughter as the age he was when it all started to unravel. And the little girl…he viewed her as his last years of innocence, the little soul who had no idea what was coming. And the happy family…that spoke nothing of what he remembered. His holidays either began nicely then deteriorated by the end of the day, or they started out as nothing special. Either his father would drink too much and feel he wasn't appreciated for all he'd done – like the Easter he and his brother didn't make a huge fuss over their baskets, so they were taken away – or they'd be woken up by yelling, wanting to bury themselves in the covers until the day was over…as if the next would be any better.

Once his mom's illness came through…any hope of anything normal was over completely. Such as his 9th Halloween when he and his brother went trick-or-treating, and they ended up getting separated; he went home only to be locked out, his mother barricading the door from intruders. _Mom, it's Bobby!_ he'd yelped; _You're just saying that so I'll let you in!_ she'd countered. _My Bobby's in here! You can't take my boys! Go away!_ He'd continued to plead with her, that he was her son, that he had just gotten done trick-or-treating, that he'd share his candy with her, only to eventually be crying, sitting on the porch, afraid he'd have to sleep outside. For once he'd wished his father would come home, just so he could let him in, but, as Bobby'd find out later, his father was out having an affair. Around 11pm he'd mercifully found the laundry room window unlocked, giving him just enough room to crawl through. His mother was asleep up against the couch, a rolling pin clutched against her chest for protection, which surely would've been used on him had she been awake.

The worst was the Christmas when he was 11, and his mind went there without his permission. His father had just left, his mother in and out of lucidity. One second she watched him and Frank open their small amount of presents, the next she was telling them how they didn't deserve them, how the gifts were for baby Jesus. By noon she was in her room, with the door locked, and there she'd stay for the rest of the day and a small part of the following. He felt guilty enjoying any of his presents. He and his brother received Odyssey together (the first video game system), and they did attempt to play hockey but their hearts just weren't in it. At least they had each other. Many times his brother got special treatment from their mother, or at least better treatment, simply for being older; it was a nice balance for Frank, as he got taunted by their father for not being more of a man. But for Bobby, he got secondary treatment from his mother, and different but equally belittling attention from his father. Bad as it made him feel for thinking such things, he wondered sometimes why _he _didn't get the special treatment, since he was the baby; doesn't the baby get pampered? Not in his family. In his family, he was the one who needed to grow up, and it was up to his brother to toughen him up with taunts and occasional beatings, as if he didn't get enough from his father. As he got older he did feel partly responsible for Frank's problems, as he tried to get him to loosen up from all their father had crammed into his head. The trouble was that Frank loosened up too much and didn't know how to stop… But on this one day in 1972, they were united; they were equal. Since Christmas dinner had been left unprepared, they had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and watched _Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stolen Christmas_. Even at such a tender age, Bobby pondered the "Grinch" that stole his Christmas, the monster that came to take over his mother from time to time. It'd be years before he understood; then, all he really knew was that Mommy was sick, and he had no way of knowing how sick, or that it didn't happen to most Mommies.

Bobby exhaled shakily at those memories. At times he cursed his memory, because as useful as it was for retaining information, it was equally as cruel for housing all his memoirs of childhood fear and neglect. He'd gotten very good at holding in his tears over the years, decades of practice, but sometimes they found their way out. With all he'd been through today, this became one of those times.

He leaned forward, propped his left arm up on his leg, and leaned his head onto his hand. He opened his eyes only long enough to let the next tear escape, closing them again as if to hold in some piece of serenity. His pain rolled down his cheeks in two perfect lines, silent within himself, feeling that to outright sob would be melodramatic; after all, things could've been much worse. He could've still been that confused little boy who only wanted to be close to his mom, with only the bare essentials to the thankful for. Though, in his mind, two loving parents should've been part of those essentials. And he was still confused. And he still harbored the delusion that he would one day have an ordinary relationship with his mother. Long since a little boy, but that little boy still lay inside the 43-year-old man he'd become. And from time to time, he had to retreat to this place, he had to bask in the insanity to maintain his sanity. He had to remember what he came from to appreciate what he became. He had to hope one day he'd no longer need to engage in this ritual, that perhaps in the future he'd be able to let somebody in.

It wasn't often he truly gave reflection to this loneliness, but when he let his mind wander to such places, it was there. It was there when they worked the Tagman case, driving him to go to bat for the murderer simply because he understood the dire, deeply-felt loneliness from which the crimes sprung. And it was here, on Thanksgiving early evening, and he couldn't fight it…


	7. Chapter 7

_**I see lots of views, so thank you for reading! And thank you to those leaving reviews. I appreciate them, keep 'em coming. :-)**_

Still with faint tear trails on his face from a good hour ago, Bobby searched through his dresser drawers for a well-kept and long-since-used secret. It'd been so long, in fact, that he couldn't remember where he'd hidden it. That amazed him, that he could remember such inane little details but he couldn't find his…

_Cigarettes_, he thought, pulling them out from under a pair of jeans in his bottom drawer. It was beyond him why he hid them, being that he lived alone. In any event, he'd found them. Smoking was only an everyday part of his life when he was in the Army. Now he only smoked in rare instances: when he was extremely stressed, or in the few times it worked to his advantage on the job. This fit the description of "extremely stressed".

Feeling around towards the back of the drawer, he located the ashtray he'd bought in Germany so many years ago. As he gathered the paraphernalia in his right hand, he cocked his head to the side and leaned in once again, reaching into the drawer with his free hand. A small sliver of white stuck out from under the clothes, and even though he'd neglected it for so long, he knew exactly what it was. In fact, he hadn't even thought about it in some time, wouldn't have thought of it today had it not been for his mother, but he smiled as he withdrew the Polaroid. Eames wasn't exactly smiling because of being caught off-guard, but it didn't matter much. _She looks beautiful_, he thought gently. It didn't overly surprise him that people sometimes mistook them for a couple – hell, they went undercover as such often enough to make it convincing – but it just wasn't true. He loved her very genuinely, but not in the way everyone else seemed to think he should. It wasn't hard to understand why a man would be attracted to her, why a man would fall in love with her. He'd secretly had a few fleeting moments of attraction over the past four years, as was often natural within a close male-female camaraderie, but that was simply out of the question. His affection for her was likened to a brother loving a sister…who was also his best friend.

With the half-full pack of Marlboros, the ashtray, and the Polaroid, he made his way back to the living room. He set the picture on his coffee table softly, and then focused his attention on his original plan. No time was wasted in lighting up as he lay down on the couch, staring straight up at the ceiling. Inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly; feeling calm in a sinful way. Trying his best not to think, he focused solely on the pattern the smoke left as it ascended and faded into nothing. Enough liquor had been drunk to take the edge off, not nearly enough to do any real damage. He hadn't decided if that's what he was aiming for yet. It depended on what the rest of the night held. 6:47 glowed in blue from his DVD player, meaning there was plenty of time left to tell…

* * *

_Dreams weren't always the best escape for him. The nights he slept enough to dream, that is. The ones he did have tended to revolve around cases, all of the depravity he saw on a daily basis. Every once in awhile Nicole Wallace popped in for a visit; he usually hated those the most. With the way she got into his head during their meetings was enough; he didn't need her to enter his subconscious. Surprisingly he didn't dream about his family too much. And the kind of dreams he wanted to have were far and few between. But this was one time he was having a good one – maybe too good. _

_ He and Eames were undercover as a married couple once again. Bands of gold and all. They needed access to one of the honeymoon suites so they weren't playing just any married couple - they were playing newlyweds. She was clinging to his arm, calling him "honey", looking lovingly up into his eyes. She was incredibly convincing; he would've believed her. He followed suit, smiling widely, looking down into her eyes, cozying up to her as they waited for their room key. Giddy as teenagers, he considered himself very fortunate to be getting paid for having such fun. And paid extra, at that. Since they had to make it look real, they'd be staying for the weekend. _

_ After being handed their key and wished a happy stay, they stood waiting for the elevator to open. He leaned down to discuss their plan of action for the search, his face plastered with a love struck smile to stay in character. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the attendant giving them with an odd look from behind the desk. He feared his shield may have been showing. He glanced down to check; thankfully it was still nestled at the bottom of his pocket._

_ "Bobby?" Eames said very close to his ear. He lifted his head to face her, but before he could reply, she pulled him into a kiss. His surprise almost made him pull away, but he knew how bad it would look to the inquisitive man at the desk. It wasn't just a peck, but it wasn't very lengthy, either…but it felt like forever. When she pulled her lips away, with her hand still on the back of his head, she leaned her forehead on his._

_ "Well I had to do _something._ That kid won't stop staring at us."_

_ He laughed and replayed what had just taken place in his head; it happened so fast that he could barely process it. Eames had just…kissed him! He couldn't believe it. He was called out of his thoughts by her voice, off in the distance._

_ "Bobby, c'mon," she called from inside the elevator. A second later she was pulling him inside with her, just before the doors closed. "Shake it off, big boy; you're going to blow our cover." He looked at her with widened as she smirked, and—_

Bobby sat up violently, pulled out of his dream by some unknown force. He thought he'd heard something, but he had no what it could've been. In a daze his eyes scanned the room and he exhaled with a sigh. Then a smile spread across his face as he shook his head, touching his lips lightly. It had been a good dream. At least his mother and Esther's pestering had been good for something. For a split second he wondered if they'd ever have to go that extra mile during one of their undercover stints, and had to chuckle at the very thought. His reaction would probably be exactly the same, still crouched down to her level, completely awestruck. But still…it was a good dream. All of this happening in mere seconds, though feeling like much longer, just like the k—

Heavy knocking at his door, followed by "Bobby, I know you're in there…" from the other side.

_Eames?_ he thought, surprised…and a bit confused. How long had she been at the door? Was that what had woken him up?

As if reading his mind, there came a couple of pounds at the door. "Bobby, your truck's outside, knock it off and let me in!" She sounded concerned. Well, angry and concerned.

Still slightly asleep and admittedly a little tipsy, he got up from the couch and walked to the door, bumping the very end of the coffee table. But in the short time it took him to make it from point A to point B, another set of pounds sounded at the door…


	8. Chapter 8

**_As always, thank you for the reviews! Sell, I'm so curious how you're able to read my story; it's fun to translate your reviews. :)_**

* * *

_I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind_, Eames thought as she climbed the stairs to his apartment. The sound of determined and heavy heels echoed through the stairwell as she stormed up to the 3rd floor. Somewhere between the rapidly-ended phone call and the drive home…she figured it out. She knew he'd lied to her. The tension in his voice when she mentioned his mother, she knew he'd gone to see her and something must've happened, and she knew too well that he'd rather be alone in that state than be with anyone else. And she also knew he was too kind to bail out on plans…so he never intended to go to Lewis's in the first place. What she didn't know was why he would lie. Sure, he dealt on a need-to-know basis when it came to his family life, but he didn't…_lie_ to her. It made her feel betrayed. And there must've been a reason. She just didn't think she'd like it.

By the time she reached his floor, she was an odd mix of angry and sad. She hated to think of him sitting all alone behind that door. An image entered her mind: the History Channel on the TV screen and Bobby eating Chinese food out of the cartons. _It can't be _that _far from the truth_, she groaned to herself. That made her feel guilty, remembering the scene of earlier that evening: the whole clan at the huge dining room table passing around all sorts of home-cooked goodies, the children at the kiddie table playing with their food, and the house filled with love. …A house that Bobby could've been a part of if he hadn't lied. And she was back to being ticked off.

As she approached his door she took a deep breath and shook her head before knocking. She waited impatiently, giving him time…but she didn't hear anything from inside. Not even the History Channel. She knocked again, a little louder. Still nothing.

She decided maybe he'd only answer the door if he knew it was her. That is, if he thought she wasn't aware of what he'd done. But she was also a little worried. _Screw it_, she thought as she raised her fist once again. "Bobby, I know you're in there…" she trailed off, trying not to sound too annoyed. She drummed on her thigh with her fingers as she waited, feeling like it had been an eternity. _What the hell?!_ her mind yelled.

"Bobby, your truck's outside, knock it off and let me in!" Both her voice and her knocking were louder and angrier. Did he really think she wouldn't see the big black truck outside? It was as unmistakable as he was. And here she was, standing outside his apartment on Thanksgiving night, pounding on his door…and he wasn't answering. That meant either he was hiding from her or something was wrong. He wasn't the kind to hide…so what had happened? Worry became her main emotion. This time the side of her fist made contact with the door.

"Damnit, this isn't funny, Goren! Open the damn—" She was cut off as he appeared in the doorway, wearing a somewhat smug look on his face. And back to angry it was. "What the hell is that look for, Bobby?"

"Twice in one day? I'm a lucky man," he smirked still. "Getting a little impatient?"

She offered him a sarcastic snicker to his first remark. "Impatient? Since when does it take 4 knocks to get you to answer the door? You can't even say 'just a minute', nothing?" She tried not to sound too ticked off but couldn't really help herself. And she couldn't help but notice how unlike himself he looked, very…distant. He was usually lost in his own little world, but this was different. And his alertness was missing. That threw her most of all.

"Sorry, I fell asleep," he said as he ushered her in. _He fell asleep?_ she thought with surprise. _I don't think he's ever mentioned sleep in the last 4 years, but he was asleep at 7pm on a holiday?_

"And since when do you take naps?" she verbalized her thoughts. "What's going on with you? You look like hell."

"Thanks," he said with a chuckle. She stared incredulously at him, then let her eyes wonder to the coffee table. Two cigarette butts in the ashtray, booze…and the picture.

Bending down, she picked up the Polaroid, smiling. "I can't believe you kept this."

"Yeah, well…it's the only one I have of the two of us. …Cigarette?" he offered, picking up the pack.

"Bobby…" she sighed, shaking her head, setting the picture back down. "What are you doing?" Her words seemed to escape him as he lit a cigarette and sat down. "What is wrong with you? You skipped out on Lewis for a date with nicotine and whiskey?"

"Scotch whiskey," he corrected. Even inebriated and out of kilter, he still had to be a know-it-all. "I came home early."

She stared at him for a few seconds, thinking of ways to approach the topic doing overtime in her head. But she decided to be direct. Sitting down on his right, she took a deep breath before speaking. "…Y'know what, I'm not even going to play along. I was going to, but I'm not. I know you didn't go to Lewis's. You wouldn't make plans and bail out on them. It's not you. So is lying going to become a habit with you or was this just a special occasion?"

Shock couldn't describe the look on his face. Hurt. Inquisitive. …Frightened? All of those seemed to show in his eyes. Those perpetually half-asleep eyes seemed wider than they'd ever been before. In fact, they were so full of emotion, she wondered if maybe she'd gone too far. _...He lied to _me_! Why should I feel guilty? I didn't say anything wrong. …Did I?_ "Bobby, say something, you're…scaring me a little." With that his eyes looked even more occupied and confused.

"Eames…" was all he managed to get out for a good 15 seconds. Usually she barely noticed the lengthy pauses in his sentences, but at this moment in time she was on edge. And she didn't know whether to be irritated or concerned.

"Eames, I…never meant to hurt you. And I certainly…never meant…to _scare _you. I'm sorry. I'm…I'm very sorry." With fleeting eye contact, he made her even more on edge. She must've really hit a nerve. The only time she'd seen him this unglued was when he was blamed for Croyden's suicide. There was no doubt in her mind he was truly sorry. But she still didn't understand why he'd lie in the first place.

With a sigh, "Thank you. …But why did you lie to begin with? Is something going on I should know about?" He shook his head as he exhaled a cloud of smoke and put out his cigarette. _Of course not_, she thought sarcastically. "So you just decided to drink and smoke your way through Thanksgiving for no reason at all? C'mon, Bobby, do you expect me to believe that? This isn't you."

His hands flew up into the air with some sort of shrug. "Well…I don't know what to tell you. Nothing's going on, I just felt like having a drink and a smoke. Is that such a problem?" This unsettled her. She'd heard this tone directed at perps, even Carver and the Captain a time or two, but never at her. And right then, she understood.

"What happened with your mom?" she asked directly but kindly. He visibly cringed and turned his head away from her, scratching the back of his neck. That was his tick. "You already saw her when I called you earlier. Talk to me, tell me what's wrong. I want to listen. You shouldn't keep all of that inside—"

"Nothing _happened_, Ok? I went to see her, and…and then I came home. All right? She has her good days and bad days. It's not a big deal. I'm fine."

Her heart sank as her eyes saddened. "You're not fine…"

"I'm _fine_." He breathed deeply and exhaled audibly. She watched with trepidation, not knowing how far too push him. And somehow she was even more startled by what he said next. "…How was your day? Did you have fun with your nieces and nephews?"

She was visibly thrown, blinking several times and looking off to the side then back to meet his face. He was sitting here, basically falling apart in front of her, and he was asking about her day? …But, it actually didn't shock her, the more seconds that passed. It was his way. Deflecting the personal questions. Usually he went right to the case at hand, but right now it was about her. And she knew that he actually did care, it wasn't just a question for the sake of stopping hers. That made her even sadder…

"It was a nice day, Bobby," she said in a quiet voice. Part of her just wanted to fall forward and hug him, hoping he'd share his deepest feelings if he truly believed she was there to listen. She just wanted to know what was going on in that brilliant mind of his, what was hiding behind each pillar or just beyond the corridor. The big detective – she'd heard several people refer to him as that over the years – was an enigma and she'd seen more of him than maybe anyone else…but she wanted to see even more than that.

"Eames?" Looking up, she had to smirk to see his head tilted. Always the detective, always trying to piece together a puzzle. "Where did you just go?"

Shaking her head, she sighed. "Nowhere." For a moment her face contorted in confusion at the lingering questioning expression on his face. Then she remembered what they were talking about before she drifted off. "It was a very nice Thanksgiving with everyone. …Well, almost everyone." Another questioning look on his face. "You should've been there."

"It's not my family," he said in a genuine way, not rude or up for interpretation.

"You're my partner. In our book, that's family. Friends are family, too, y'know. And I wish you'd stop lessening yourself. One of these days, Goren, I'm dragging your ass to one of our get-togethers. And you just try and stop me." This brought a smile and a laugh out of him. That beautiful smile and laugh she saw from time to time when something she said struck him just the right way. But just as quickly as they came, they faded away as his eyes moved to the bottle on the table.

"I never offered you a drink," he said, getting out of his seat.

"That's Ok, I don't want one." Her words went in one ear and came out the other as he came back to meet her with a glass in his hand. "Really, I don't want any. Thank you anyway."

"C'mon," he poured. "Do you want me drinking alone on Thanksgiving?" _Little too late for that_, she thought. Surrendering, she took a sip.

"Ahh!" she exclaimed, holding her hand to her mouth. "Good God that's strong. How can you drink this?"

He shrugged as he knocked back his own. "Acquired taste."

"Yeah, well…you can have it," as she set her glass back on the table. "Bobby…please tell me what happened today." She saw him roll his eyes and suppress an exhale. "Do you think I'd ask if I didn't care? After all this time, do you really think I'm going to bite if you let me get too close? I know you. And I know this isn't you." He seemed to be getting frustrated but sat silent as she continued. "I know something big must've happened today. I mean, really, since when do you smoke?"

"Since I'm upset!" he erupted, staring her right in the eyes. She stared back, startled. He seemed to gauge that and look away, softening a bit. "Since I'm upset, Eames. I don't crumble on the job; spare me the lecture on my time off."

"You can crumble all you want. I'm not saying you have to be strong all the time, Bobby. But _don't_ blow up on me for trying to help. I'm just trying to understand—"

"Well I didn't ask for your _help_. And you _don't_ understand, so…"

"No, you didn't ask. But, guess what, I still want to help. And how the hell am I supposed to understand if you don't give me the chance?"

"You _can't_ understand. Nothing I tell you can make you understand, and I don't want pity." He sighed, shaking his head. "Look, I'm sorry, Eames, I... I appreciate what you're trying to do. But I don't want to bring you down—"

"Y'know, maybe I can't understand your life or what you go through with your mother. You're right, I can't imagine what it is like for you," she blurted out, having grown tired of his attitude. "But I do know a little something about loss and uncertainty – do you think it was easy for me to give up that baby last year, Bobby? That baby I carried under my heart for 9 months, that baby I loved more than anything? Do you think it didn't hurt to give him away? I know he was never mine in the first place, but he _lived_ in me! For all I went through, I didn't get any congratulations, I didn't have anyone considering my feelings! And that's fine, because that's what I signed on for, but that doesn't mean it didn't _bother_ me! So don't tell me I don't know anything about pain and suffering. So excuse me for trying to help, Bobby. I'm sorry someone cares enough about you to make the effort."

The room sat silent, deafeningly silent, and the tension could've been cut with a knife. She was shaken by her outburst, for both its severity and its vulnerability. She'd never voiced those feelings to anyone, the hurt she'd put herself through. Even though he'd been there for her after she'd given birth, she never once let on just how much she was in pain, just how empty and deprived she felt. She knew those feelings weren't fair, and she felt horribly selfish. For those reasons she kept them to herself to suffer through alone, even though she was justified in her loneliness. She sensed Bobby must've known she felt that way with how often he stopped by, seeming to attempt to fill the void. He did a good job, though nothing or no one could take the place of what had been taken away. And now…now he needed her. And once again she felt horribly selfish, this time for hurting someone who'd always tried so hard to be there for her. Now, with the words out of her mouth, she couldn't take them back. And from the look on his face, they were resounding in his head as she tried to think of what to say next…


	9. Chapter 9

**_Thank you very much for the continued reviews. I actually feel really bad that I've gained more follows/favorites in the past couple of days...because this is the last chapter. I wrote this several years ago and am happy I was finally able to share it. I hope you enjoy this last chapter. _****3**

He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. And he felt guilty for having heard it. Eames wasn't one to express such emotions, but his way of behaving had made her lash out. Although such feelings only made her stronger in his eyes, he knew she felt as if she showed weakness. And all for what? For trying to show she cared about him? For trying to alleviate his pain? For trying to be a friend? She didn't deserve to be treated that way. And he decided it was his responsibility to break the stillness.

"Eames…" he said softly, nearly a whisper. She shifted slightly but didn't look up. He took a deep breath and moved in closer. "Eames, I'm sorry. I know you're trying to do is help. And I've been a jerk."

"Yeah, you have," she said, turning her head to face him.

"…It's hard…for me…to talk to people about these things." He took a pause. "But that's…that's no excuse."

She was slightly nodding her head. "No, it's not… But I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have laid all that on you. Let's forget I ever said it, all right?"

Shaking his head, he flashed her concerned eyes. "No, I'm not going to forget. And you shouldn't, either. You deserve to talk about it. It's not right that you were left feeling that way without a second thought from anyone else. And I never wanted to make you talk about something you didn't want to talk about; that's why I let you lead the conversations when I'd come to visit. You don't know how amazing you are for what you did for your sister. Y'know…you and I are a lot alike. We're always afraid we're going to appear weak. But you're not weak…"

He sat still for a few seconds, causing her to give him a concerned look. Then, he began to speak, slowly. "…I went to see my mother today. I went not long after you left. At first she was having a good day, it was too good to be true… And it was."

Detailing what'd happened was a slow and difficult process, even with leaving out the smallest details. Every sentence wasn't crucial, and she didn't need to be burdened with every aspect of his day. But he told her the big things, the things that hurt the most; how Frank was the good son, how he was just like his father, how he was single and not getting any younger. She didn't need to know about the things that were said about her, about the two of them together. They would only make her uncomfortable, as they did him. And she certainly didn't need to know that for a fleeting moment during it all…he wished for the same thing as his mother. For just one moment, he wished she could be everything to him that his mother and Esther wanted her to be.

"Bobby…" was all she could manage in the shock of it all. "I'm so sorry. I know that's not what you want to hear, but I'm sorry. I can't imagine… You're not just a hero on the job, are you?"

"Eames," he said in a dismissive way.

"No, I mean it, and you're gonna take it, damnit. You told me I'm amazing, and you can take the compliment in return. You don't know how rare that is, someone like you. And to be that kind of person through everything you've gone through… It takes a special kind of person." She was resting her hand on his leg, nodding in turn with her words.

"Thank you…" he said with a sheepish smile, blushing and trying to keep the compliment; she'd surely hit him if he didn't. "But that'll be our little secret."

* * *

Several hours had passed as they sat on the couch together, sharing a drink and watching random TV. At her insistence, they hung onto the rest of the holiday together by watching _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_. They'd talked some about her experiences with her nephew and how she dealt with the aftermath, most of which he'd suspected at the time. Candid conversation between friends. He leaned back on the couch as she nestled close to him, her head on his shoulder, covered up by a warm blanket. It was the best Thanksgiving he'd had in a long time, blocking out the hours that led up to her arrival. And he suspected she was equally pleased by the turn of events the night had taken. As it neared 10pm , just when he thought she may've fallen asleep, she sat up with a yawn.

"I think it's about time I get home. The alarm clock will be going off before I know it."

With slight hesitation, he offered "Why don't you just say here tonight? The couch is pretty comfortable. Or you could take the bed and I'll stay out here."

"I don't think you could squish yourself onto this couch, Goren. And as tempting as that sounds, I'm not sleeping in a skirt. But I appreciate the offer. Maybe next time."

He smiled at that, the thought of there being a next time. He'd been to her apartment plenty of times, but she'd only been here a handful. He rather enjoyed the company; her company, at that. It had been strangely comforting to an extent to unburden himself, though he didn't intend to make a habit of it. In a way, it had more so been for _her_ that he'd said so much; after all she'd voiced to him, she deserved equal openness. He also felt slightly tarnished in the aberrance of actually speaking about his situation and his feelings about it all. But…what was said had been said, and he had to take comfort in knowing Eames was the person to which he could trust his secrets.

"Thank you for making this a real holiday, Eames. It's been a long time."

With a slightly devilish grin, "Well if you'd come to my parents' for Christmas, you can see just how much of a holiday we Irish Catholics can make. Think about it, will you?" He nodded. At that, she got up and grabbed her coat, pulling it on quickly to replace the blanket. "For Christmas I'll be wearing pants; my legs are freezing!"

He began folding the blanket as she rummaged through her purse for her keys. Finding them, she walked towards the door. Swiftly, he followed.

"Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning," she said with a smile. He nodded. "Thank you for having me; tonight really meant a lot." They exchanged a few moments' worth of more end-of-the-evening small talk before he opened the door for her.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Bobby," she said as she reached up to hug him.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Alex," he said softly as he held her close. It was so rare he hugged her and just as rare he called her by her first name. Every once and awhile the moment merited it, though he used her last name with the same affection.

Pulling out of the hug, she reached up and kissed his lips gently for just a moment. Taken by surprise, he laughed and eyed her incredulously.

"Shake it off, big boy, it's just a goodnight kiss between friends," she smirked. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Eames," he mustered as she walked through the door and pulled it shut from the other side. He touched his lips and laughed under his breath, having a flashback to his earlier dream.

_Shake if off, big boy_, she'd said under the control of his subconscious; it seemed he truly knew her quite well, indeed. And with that, he returned his cigarettes and Glenlivet to their rightful places; out of sight, out of mind. But the Polaroid remained where it lay all night: on the coffee table, staring back at him, making him smile. He gave it one last look before retreating to his bedroom, believing tonight he may actually be able to sleep longer than a few hours. It'd been a long day, but a day well worth it in the end.

On this Thanksgiving, though he had less to be thankful for than some, he had more to be thankful for than others. But more so than anything, he was thankful for her. And that was more than enough.


End file.
